


A Marvelous Worke of Fiction, Starring Wizards! Men! But not Vimes!

by marielaveau



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-21
Updated: 2010-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:28:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marielaveau/pseuds/marielaveau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The true and unabridged account of the blossoming of love between the local friendly tourist and the Coward of a 1000 retreating backs...Or, what happens when De Worde introduces Ankh Morpork to the penny dreadful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Marvelous Worke of Fiction, Starring Wizards! Men! But not Vimes!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [liltingkricket](https://archiveofourown.org/users/liltingkricket/gifts).



> Every year, I select one of my fandoms...and then get a request for a pairing that would not even occur to me when I'm hyped up on espresso and imaginary subtext. You,my dear liltingkricket, are no exception to this rule. Twoflower/Rincewind? I tell you, I'm frightened by what must go on in your brain...but I enjoyed writing this, and I apologize in advance for the complete lack of smut...and of course, for the multiple, possibly quite erroneous, references to Pratchett's version of Oz.
> 
> HAPPY YULETIDE! and don't mind the Luggage now, he's just tryin' to be friendly.

Once upon a Hogswatch…

Isn’t that how all wonderful stories start? Especially stories about a handsome prince, and a princess, and the princess’s fairy godmother—oh, and a grand quest, with a king, and a wizard, and possibly four white horses pulling a carriage into the sunset at the end.

A loud banging noise caused the young lady to place her quill into the inkwell and turn to look towards the window. She frowned reprovingly at the large steamer trunk perched on the windowsill.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “I’m trying to write this story down, so Mr. William can put it out tomorrow! Did you know, Lady Sybil is a fan? She wrote the loveliest letter, and said she was most eager to read my next story.”

The Trunk’s lid opened slightly, as if it were stifling a polite yawn.

“Oh, what do you know? You’re as bad as his Grace,” the young woman said. “But Sybil—she said I could call her that, you know—said ‘don’t mind Sam, he’s really a romantic at heart’. She really liked the description of the dents in his armor in my story—you know, the first Metropolitan Romance—The Dragon Queen’s Battered Knight. ” She turned back to her small writing table, which in its previous incarnation had possibly housed a basket of cloth and needles, just in case someone from Lancre had come looking for an actual seamstress to fix a dent in their pants. She heaved a little sigh, and picked up her quill again.

Our heroes in this installment—for true heroes of the city, they are, indeed—met long ago, but only recently found love within their deep, abiding camaraderie. I feel, dear reader, that to give justice to their story is beyond my weak grasp, but I believe that I must dare to venture forth, and pick up my pen, for their sake—and for yours. For they are the epitome of unrequited love that turned into something more!

A pink, strappy high heeled sandal flew past the young woman’s ear with enough force to embed the glitter encrusted heel into the wall. She sighed again. “Sweetie, you’re right, that’s so not your color.” She stared down at the notebook in front of her. “I just can’t seem to tell this story. Something is too—too—fictional about it. Your master is such a simple soul, but I’m having greatest difficulty describing him…”

The pitter-patter of many feet approached and then stopped behind her abruptly. An exceptionally loud bang nearly tipped her out of her chair. She righted herself, and then stood to glare at the Luggage. “Now, really, I am trying to work here—“ She broke off, and looked thoughtfully at the trunk. It had a deep blue, gauzy scarf caught under one corner of its brass bound lid, with the wider part of the scarf draped artfully over the battered wood. “Oh Trunkie, dear, that is so you,” she exclaimed. “Much better than those shoes.”

The Luggage tilted its lid up and tapped the feet on the left side, lavender colored toenails gently clicking against the floor.

“Oh, I see.” The young woman hiked her skirts up and sat backwards on the chair. She rubbed her five o’clock shadow with one hand, gazing at the Luggage. “You think I’m not describing your master and dear Mr. Twoflower as themselves. Well, I’m not sure this city is ready for so much bald truth. Then again, the Dragon Queen did so well, not because Sybil is traditionally beautiful, but because their love story has so much of the City in it. All right, you’ve sold me on the idea!” She clapped her hands. “Now, I’ll tell what I know of the affair to you, and you just add what you saw.”

Once upon a Hogswatch, because that is where the story really got exciting, Twoflower was waiting outside of his Lordship’s office. I was there as well, because Carrot had asked Angua to escort me from our shindig at Biers, to keep me safe. From Vimes, Angua had muttered, because, as you know, his Grace had finally read the Dragon Queen, much to Sybil’s delight. I know that the Watch has been so distracted, as of late*, but William published the final installment of that piece a month ago. There’s no excuse to suddenly raise a fuss over such bygones.

Anyway, as I stood in the hallway, Rincewind and several wizards swept past Twoflower to stand in front of his Lordship’s door. Well, Arch Chancellor Ridcully swept, and the others just kind of lumbered while Rincewind trotted behind. Your master seemed to be looking everywhere accept at Twoflower. O! Dear Mr. Twoflower tried to catch Rincewind’s gaze in his own to no avail.

We heard Commander Vimes voice raised in passion, and suddenly the door flew open with a thud. We heard his Lordshsip say, “ I will pass on your objections to Mr. de Worde. I can’t imagine why you are so vehement. Why, Sybil told me just last week that she had a particular fondness for his newest project!” The Commander stormed through the doorway.

Commander Vimes stopped in his tracks and pointed at me, his mouth flapping like a cow’s tail during blue bottled biting fly season.

And then most peculiarly, his Grace donned his helmet, turned towards the wall, and bashed his head against the plaster three times. He then stalked off towards the exit, and my attention returned to the scene at hand. His Lordship almost looked like he wanted to laugh as he inclined his head to the wizards and Mr. Twoflower, but that can’t be right, as I’ve heard he’s a most serious gentleman. Still, I know I heard him mutter something about “a very nice dent.” Very odd—anyway, back to the story at hand.

His Lordship blinked at us, and said, “I suppose this is about my appointment of Ambassador Twoflower. Please be succinct, Ridcully. You said in your memo that you had no objection my appointee. Then what, precisely, do you wish to object to?”

Arch chancellor Ridcully said, “Well, y’know, I’m all for wizards becoming active participants in the civic community. But it’s a full time position to be a Wizard of Ankh-Morpork. I’m afraid I can’t spare Rincewind for some sort of silly jaunt across the pond.”

His Lordship nodded gravely. “Well, that is a very good point. I would never send a wizard on such a trifling errand as a bodyguard of the Ankh-Morpork Ambassador. I’m certain you misunderstood Ambassador Twoflower’s suggestion.”

Mr. Twoflower said brightly, “Of course, I would never stand between my dear friend Rincewind and his sworn duties. I asked him to accompany me as only my dear friend, as he is so much better traveled than I. Why, I could not even find a bed in the land of Fourecks without his assistance.”

“He found you a bed, eh?” Arch Chancellor Rincewind grinned bracingly, nudging Rincewind with such force that his hat slid sideways, the knotted string under his chin stopping just between his left ear. “Rincewind, you dog, why didn’t you say so? I would never stop from helping our dear Ambassador find a bed so far from home.” The gaggle of wizards behind him tittered and started hissing at each other.

Mr. Rincewind blushed. You know, I hadn’t seen anyone turn that shade of crimson before that time on Fourecks, when I told him my parents named me Peter? They weren’t of the literary mindset like me. Anyway, he stuttered, you know how he gets when he’s trying to say something he feels real strongly about. He finally choked out, “That’s very generous, sir, but I feel it is my duty—“

Then Twoflower grabbed his arm, and pulled him towards the doorway. “My comrade is so overcome with emotion at your generosity, but I can only speak for both of us when I say we will do this great City proud.” Then he disappeared from sight. His Lordship bid us farewell.

And that is all—Oh, you say you saw more. Then add it quickly, so we may fly it off to the presses tonight!

Postscript, written by a close confidant of our Heroes:

  
Mr. Twoflower (I always call him as such because he never mocked my desire to strut about in high heels. On the contrary, he said it did wonders for my posture) pulled the Coward of a 1000 retreating backs all the way across the courtyard. The Coward of a 1000 retreating backs finally dug his heels in shadows of the City Watch House, right there on the corner of Imperial and Old Stoneface streets.

I happened to have such luck to be close enough to overhear the following discussion:

“Twoflower! You idiot! Now they think we’re…you know…”

“Well, they do say wizards can see into the future?”

“Huh? No, no, they can’t, not even with a talking skull and a raven—What are you talking about--” The Coward of a 1000 retreating backs backed right into a low, rectangular box. Well of course I flipped my lid! Mr. Twoflower caught that flailing idiot while he was screaming incoherently about my appetite for sharks, and then put his mouth to better, although not quieter, uses.

What? No, you perverted Sheila. I will not give you details about what they did on my wood. I have been violated, I tell you!

Wait…you say you know where I can find sharks? In the City? All right, maybe I’m easy, but not cheap.

**Author's Note:**

> *This is a story about life and love. This is not a story about Death, because Albert didn't want him to get anymore Ideas-- Susan scares him, though he'll thank you not to say that where she can hear-- so as the events mentioned here unfolded, he distracted Death by suggesting that to be human meant making up a drinking game to bond with colleagues and friends. The City saw a large influx of beer minded immigrants from XXXX, Biers saw a 900% increase in beer sales, the Watch decided to keep a close eye on a possible increase of localized crime, and Dibbler sold out of small white balls faster than he sold out of TShirts reading: Werewolves Shake, Jiggle and Bounce While Wet.


End file.
